


we’re bigger than we ever dreamed (and I’m in love with being queen)

by anakinleias



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Eventual Romance, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Angst, Modern Royalty, Mutual Pining, On Hiatus, Will Update Tags As It Goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anakinleias/pseuds/anakinleias
Summary: As the Crown Princess she needs to keep the good relations between their countries, but that isn’t why she’s attending the wedding of his distant cousin, someone not even close in the line of succession. There’s no need for her to be here. And yet./Modern!Royalty AU[ON HIATUS]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle, it’s my first multichapter. The WoF spawned this (along with an old edit from my friend thababes for another fandom) and it’s the most AU I've ever written. Don’t expect regular/frequent updates, I’m still writing most of it.
> 
> MASSIVE thanks to anneweaver for helping me plot and talking me down from the ledge (multiple times) and softswans for being a wonderful human and putting up with my shit.

 

 

She can hear the camera shutters click before she’s even out of the car, sitting on the shiny leather seats, poised and ready, the perfect princess. She waits patiently, as usual sitting on whichever side they would be parked, having been informed beforehand – a lady never slides across the seat. The driver rounds the car and she takes a deep breath, smoothing the sash on the big bow at her waist, picking at the nonexistent fluff on her faux fur coat and plastering on a smile.

The door opens in front of the church, cameras flashing as authorized and vetoed personnel shout her name behind the press line, eager to ask her what she’s wearing and who she’s dating, to invade her privacy and make sly insinuations about her personal life.

She knows he’s already inside since he’s in the wedding party, having texted her an hour prior with a goofy selfie simply captioned with the word “bored”. She’d smiled, approving of his properly styled hair and clean shaven face after yet another unsuccessful attempt of his to grow facial hair. And while she’d prefer it be accompanied by suspenders, Tessa has to admit he does look quite dashing in a tuxedo with a bow tie.

She’d sent a thumbs up emoji and then snapped a picture of herself as she got ready to leave, makeup finished and hair pinned back with a emerald brooch to keep it away from her face, showing off the top half of her green gown. With a very deep neckline. It also has an open back, but the effect is thankfully dampened by her hair cascading down in curls, keeping it modest and family-friendly even when she takes off her coat.

She steels herself with another deep breath before doing the perfunctory poses and making her way inside with the other guests.

She finds her seat quickly – on the second row beside Daniel, who cannot be in the wedding party because of his broken leg – and relaxes into the pew, making small talk with the woman behind her, a Comtesse with a sharp tongue by the name of Marie, as they wait for the ceremony to begin.

That’s always the worst part, waiting. Everything takes so long, tradition and protocol ruling what is meant to be a celebration of love, turning everything into a tedious routine. The ball is where both bride and groom, along with guests, get to truly enjoy it.

For someone who loathes weddings, she attends them quite frequently. As the Crown Princess she needs to keep the good relations between their countries, but that isn’t why she’s attending the wedding of his distant cousin, someone not even close in the line of succession. There’s no need for her to be here. And yet.

She’s here because he asked her to be. Weddings are their thing, more precisely receptions. The one time where they can act completely free in public – or with as much freedom as being surrounded by hundreds of guests while they dance the night away, tearing up the dance floor hard and fast and swaying slowly. Which is how they find themselves now, bodies pressed close as he mouths the lyrics in her ear, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she suppresses a shudder.

The speculation used to bother them once upon a time, now vanquished to the very back of their minds and replaced with an attitude of no-nonsense. It’s something both got versed on during their media training refresher a few years back, learning to be vague but assertive enough that people end up reining themselves in, questioning their own beliefs and assumptions and more often than not, staying quiet as the realisation that they’re not owed an explanation sinks in.

They’ve gotten so good at it that even they don’t know what they are.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when he dips her low, palm supporting her until she slowly rises again, eyes meeting before she spins out of his arms only to be welcomed again. They dance the night away, blissfully ignorant to the meaning behind the stares and whispers, trading jokes until it’s past socially acceptable to monopolise the other’s time.

Just two best friends having a good time.

 

_25 years ago_

Scott has no memory of any of it, but he was at her christening. He sat beside his brothers, impatiently fidgeting and itching to go outside and resume the game of tag he’d been playing with the other children, until Nanny – a woman with a stern face and with a voice that made him painfully aware of every time he did something inappropriate – scolded him from the end of the church pew. She always said he had ants in his pants, how he could never sit quietly and pay attention, that it would get him in trouble someday. _Such behaviour is unbecoming of a Crown Prince,_  she would tut, always fixing him with a serious gaze.

Squirming once more, Scott leans against the pew in front of him, resting his face on his palms and pushing up his cheeks in utter boredom. The priest is droning on at the altar, holding a pitcher over the newborn before overturning it over its bald head and Scott can hear the whimpers the new Princess makes as the cold Holy Water hits her skin. He can see the baby being presented to the congregation, the priest’s words loud and clear as he welcomes Princess Theresa Jane Elizabeth to the church before they all rise for prayer, and then it’s over.

 

He doesn’t see her again for another five years, when she and her sister along with a multitude of noble children are invited for a luncheon for his brother’s name day, which is just an excuse for discussing politics whilst the children run around on a sugar high.

It’s unclear who started it, but 3 hours into the garden party at least half of the children are covered head to toe in mud following a drawn out battle with no clear winner. It seems to be all children for themselves as random attacks break, no clear pattern of any teams or allegiances being formed. She slides by him, narrowly avoiding a handful of mud to the face which finds its target on his chest, laughing at his shocked expression. He shakes it off quickly, palm smearing the dirt into his previously white shirt and throwing it low, hitting the calf of her white tights.

He only remembers the shocked stares and laughter from the adults, how afterwards they were all lined up and hosed down on the garden, multiple people taking pictures which they still have to this day. Most of all, he remembers how fun it was, and how that was the start of everything.

Scott barely remembers his life without her, and likes to joke that she doesn’t remember anything before him, which isn’t an exaggeration by any stretch of the imagination. They are neighbors, which means maintaining good relations is paramount; that meant they, along with their siblings and a gaggle of other children of noble birth grew up together, forging bonds from childhood that would go on to become everlasting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5 useless internet points if you understand the references used in this.

Aside from her sister, Scott is the only person who knows her deepest and darkest secrets; about how she’d considered telling her parents about not wanting to rule when she was sixteen, deep into an anxiety attack over her life being mapped out before she’d even had a chance to wrap her head around it. Her lowest point, an involvement with a professor at university, a married man fifteen years her senior going through a messy divorce. Her body image and weight issues, brought on by self consciousness and scrutiny of both the media and her peers. Her struggle with her injury and resulting pain, how in a delirious moment she’d considered bashing her bones in, to really hurt so that she’d have a cause for the pain she was feeling, an explanation more than it being in her head.

Through it all she’d counted on his unwavering support – except for the year after she’d had her first surgery, a period of which they never speak of to avoid reopening old wounds. He still beats himself over it, over his failure to be present in her time of need, despite her reassurance and forgiveness. He’d more than made up for it after her second surgery, when she woke up groggy and confused while he sat on a chair with his legs on her bed, eating the pudding meant for her.

It would be a long while until they truly discussed that time-period. It would take a wedding, too much alcohol and the introspection provided by thoughts of their friends’ love for each other in every way, for her to truly open up about it, the words pouring out almost faster than she could say them.

She would tell Scott about it; how the fear would keep her up at night conjuring up worst-case scenarios, how she had to push through public appearances whilst feeling faint with every step, how the isolation was the worst part, to have to put on a brave face was the loneliest period of her life, how she felt like a burden to everyone around her, descending into self loathing and slipping into old harmful habits, how the recovery felt every bit like the hell she was already living, thus making a bad situation worse, how the nurses were instructed to bring her medication one at a time instead of trusting her to take it herself – to make sure she took only the necessary doses and under supervision that she did in fact take them –, how utterly useless she felt all the time.

He had silently cried throughout as she droned on, the alcohol in her system becoming a mild buzz, staring into the fire dispassionately as she stripped her soul bare.

Scott would go on to tell her about his guilt which still remains; how self absorbed he’d been, fresh out of university and feeling at once free and like the carried the weight of the world. How his arrogance had led him to think he was invincible and self-sufficient, how he had pulled away from everyone and everything, thinking he could soar on his own and his hubris being his downfall, very much like Icarus falling from the sky. (How ironic that it would be flying that would save him from himself.) How the reminder that made everything come crashing down came from his brothers finally getting through to him after his detainment nearly started an international incident, how Charles knocked him out with a vicious punch to the jaw and how he’d woken up in another country, hungover and feeling sorry for himself, to learn that among the mess he’d made, his best friend had undergone surgery to be able to walk.

Something would permanently shift between them that night, and when she wrapped her arms around his chest and pressed her nose to his neck, he finally understood absolution.

  
  
There was an air of inevitability about it that always made Tessa ponder. How despite the entire thing being frowned upon and not encouraged, the people around them seemed resigned to an eventual entanglement between them happening. Hence the teasing and inquiries, the looks and commentary they got whenever they were seen together.

 _The Prince is over again,_ one of the maids would always report and without fail, someone would ask _for business or pleasure?_ It always seemed to have a mocking tone to it, how people perceived their friendship as everything except what it really is.

They’re both beyond tired of denying it, how it always seems to take the focus off whatever they’re doing, how it reduces their bond into something so simple and how invasive the questions can be. _We are business partners,_ at a gala for a charity they both support; _We are best friends,_ at the Formula 1 Grand Prix; _We’re like bandmates,_ at a Fleetwood Mac concert. Admittedly, they did tease the press a few times by being purposely misleading in their vague answers. Scott, panting and sweaty after they finished a 15k marathon for breast cancer awareness, had gratefully grabbed the water bottle she’d passed him, drinking half of it before overturning it on his head and told a reporter _I don’t think she realises that she keeps me alive._

They’ve had many a talk about it, always puzzled by the avid interest of people over how they choose to live their lives and nurture something so pure as the love they feel for each other. It always ends the same way, both checking in, mindful of any recent developments that might need to be taken into consideration.

(The conversation gets revisited again at the concert, as he suspected they’d need to.

Christine McVie sings her heart out _begging for a little sympathy_ and _fallin’, fallin’, fallin’_ as Scott twirls her around. She dances around him and as the song ends and the first notes of her favourite song starts, knowing all about the notoriously turbulent relationship between the singers, Tessa laughs with joy and he can’t help but smile at her positively chaotic enthusiasm.

She’s back in his arms again while Lindsey Buckingham watches Stevie Nicks from the corner of his eye, crying out about _how she takes my breath away_ and when he looks down to see her soft smile while mouthing along the lyrics, Scott brings their joined hands up to his mouth, placing a kiss on her knuckles before turning her to face the stage, hands clasped and bodies still swaying to the melody.

Scott waits and dreads the day her answer might change. The day something might shift between them and cause an irreparable rift, when they can no longer be themselves with each other. Lines are blurring and he knows they're having a moment, which is why he decides to ask, hiding his face on her neck and mouthing the words against her skin.

“Does it bother you?”

She doesn’t stop swaying to the music, knowing exactly what he means. Disentangling one of their hands to bring it to his hair, she gently strokes the strands on back of his head, ignoring the shudder she feels course through him. Shaking her head, and he can feel the vibrations of her throat as she speaks.

“No.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tessa's mind post surgery was my own. Needless to say, chronic pain is not fun and makes you do/feel/think things you never would otherwise.
> 
> I've written in a few old rumors and gossip to add to the context, just to be clear, I don't know if any of them are true and it's none of my business, all of this is fictional.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me preface this by saying the first part coincides with something PinkGerberDaisies also wrote for her royal fic. I'm aware. I wrote mine around the same time, she posted hers first. We talked to clear the air, she doesn't have a problem with it. There is also a ship in there that was planned since the beginning, I hope you can look past the initial shock to understand.

_Princess Kaitlyn has married her long-time partner Viscount Eric Richards at Saint Nicholas Cathedral in Monaco, the same venue at which Prince Rainier married Grace Kelly in 1956. The princess opted for a Zuhair Murad gown, wowing guests with a deep-v strapless sweetheart neckline and full skirt with a bodice embroidered in lace flowers, the result of months working closely with the designer. The bride skipped a veil, wearing only the Danish Ruby Parure tiara, lent to her by Crown Princess Mary and paired with drop diamond earrings which were a wedding gift from the groom._

_She also collaborated on the design of the bridesmaid dresses, and most notably, that of her maid of honour, Princess Theresa. The dress caused an uproar with media for its cut and fit, clinging tightly to every curve and leaving little to the imagination with a mermaid skirt that followed the theme of the bride's gown with embroidered lace over mesh and a sweetheart neckline. Princess “Kait” and Princess “Tessa” are longtime friends, very generous of the bride to let her maid of honour shine!_

_Among the guest list were fellow royals were Crown Prince Christian “Scott” whose niece Princess Charlotte served as a flower girl, diplomats Javier Fernandez and Patrick Chan, decorated athletes like tennis player Serena Williams, figure skaters Ashley Wagner and Adam Rippon and a multitude of celebrities, including singers Ellie Goulding and Sam Smith, both of whom the bride and groom are fans._

_The ceremony was attended by over 600 guests, with a private reception afterwards. The bride and groom stayed for over 3 hours and after posing for photos, they jettisoned off to their six-week honeymoon at the Turks and Caicos. We wish all the best to the happy couple!_

 

Kaitlyn Elizabeth, a fellow princess and Tessa’s longtime friend had actually ended up marrying one of their friends Eric, her own best friend. Tessa knows it to be a marriage of convenience, as do the members of their friend circle, due to both Kaitlyn – and Eric’s sexual preferences.

Kait had confessed to her during a pajama party on Tessa’s fifteenth birthday that she had kissed a girl she’d had a crush on during the previous summer, cheeks pink with excitement at sharing something so seemingly forbidden. Tessa had listened enraptured, happy for her friend – at the time she had refused to disclose who her crush was, and thus been insufferably mopey all summer until the day she wasn’t – as they sat huddled close, whispering under the blanket fort long after everyone fell asleep.

Kait and Eric have been together for almost a decade now, having both entered the setup as a way to disguise their preferences and thus cover for each other. At the time, it was a way to get her mother to stop trying to set her up with “agreeable boys”, how she never seemed interested in anyone at all. At sixteen, the fact that her world did not revolve around boys seemed strange to her family. Eric was nineteen, older and feeling the pressure to live up to whatever expectations his own family placed on him, however lovingly, to figure out his life. They figured being together would take the heat off them both. It worked, and just three years ago, as soon as Kait became of age, they were wed and now enjoy the freedom and privacy to be who they are.

(Tessa still remembers the cursive words in Kait’s handwriting when she got her invitation: _you are cordially invited to our big gay wedding._  She’d called Kait in hysterics, both laughing as they made plans for tea to further discuss Tessa’s duties as maid of honour.)

Which isn’t to say there’s no expectation or pressure. They’re both still young, Kait barely 24 years old, and already both her and Eric’s parents have begun dropping hints of grandchildren. They’ve appeased their families for now, citing Eric’s future plans as a way to stall for at least a few more years before they breach the topic of planning a family to the benefit of all involved.

All being their respective significant others, coming to terms with the future and what it will hold once a child is introduced into the dynamic and how to move forward. There were tentative talks about in-vitro sometime in the next five years, so they can safely build up to the excuse of failed attempts, but the situation still remains complicated and there is much to be discussed. And so they live a lie.

It used to fill Tessa with hope at first, that she could find love even if she has to marry for duty, that she could maybe marry her best friend and still have the great love that she craved. Until she realised she could never even marry her best friend, not even by convenience, because Scott will eventually have his own throne to take. How someday she’ll be at his wedding and he’ll attend hers, growing up and moving on with their lives until their friendship became a memory amid political pleasantries.

(She still has flashbacks about Kait and Eric’s wedding reception; tipsy and feeling wistful, she had gone on a semi-coherent monologue about love and marrying your best friend, about how fortunate they were to have each other and to always know that despite everything, they in a way married for love and that it would last. The longing in her voice was palpable, and it was clear what was left unsaid: _I’ll never have that and I wish I could._

She failed to register the way Eric shifted uneasily on his seat, deliberately not meeting anyone’s eyes as he stared at the flames from the bonfire in front of them and Kait’s eyes wide as she stared at Tessa in disbelief. They’d long moved their private gathering to the beach, and the waves crashing behind them had drowned out the sound of Patrick coughing into his champagne glass and Scott’s breath catching in his throat.

Tessa ends her thoughts with yet another toast, making Eric clear his throat uncomfortably while Patrick still coughs and Kait cheers along loudly, trying to wrap her mind around what she just heard.)

Logically, she knows it can, in fact, happen. Although both are heirs to their respective thrones, abdication is not a necessity seeing as they could rule whilst married, as did Mary and Francis – despite not being the best example – and all issues considered, the modern monarchy is more accepting than it ever was.

Still, she’d never be so selfish as to even entertain the thought. He’s her best friend, and he deserves the chance to marry whomever he chooses, whether for duty or love. She could never stand in his way.

But then they kiss, and it changes everything.

It’s not that they meant to. Or they did, but not intentionally. They didn’t set out to do it when they sat side by side, staring at the waves as the fire died slowly in front of them, everyone long gone either home or, in the bride and groom’s case, to enjoy their honeymoon with different people.

 

_3 years ago_

The bonfire is embers, burning faintly as they whisper nonsense back and forth. The conversation takes a turn when one of them revisits her speech from earlier, long after they’ve moved on from discussing the hurts from the past. It starts with teasing, driven by morbid curiosity. His tone is light as he questions her over whether she’d ever given any thought to applying her earlier words. She tries to laugh him off at first, the reminder of both of their status heavy on her tongue. The subject somehow continues into a discussion of hypotheticals, until it isn’t hypothetical anymore and they are actively discussing the planning of their wedding.

He seems to have taken offense to her belief that they know each other too well and could never work as a couple, despite the fact that there isn’t a romantic side to their relationship. He’s halfway into a drunken rant about how they could, in theory, make a great couple _because_ of it when Tessa silences him with a kiss.

It’s sloppy, her closed lips pressed to his open mouth at the wrong angle. Until it isn’t, because by then he’s recovered and her eyes flutter closed when he nudges her lips open. Scott’s brain short-circuits, synapses firing in a frenzy and telling him that this is real, it’s really happening and while he can’t quite believe it, all uncertainty goes to hell when she gasps into his mouth.

For someone caught utterly by surprise, he sure reacts quickly. Although there’s still a little voice in the back of his mind telling him to _stop, this is Tess_ and _she’s drunk and so are you, you’re gonna ruin everything,_  it gets silenced when Tessa wraps her arm around his neck, bringing them closer and pressing their chests together and threading her fingers into the hair on the back of his neck.

Scott wants to savour this moment, to commit to memory every aspect of it; the way she tastes like champagne when he sucks on her tongue, the smell of citrus from her hair falling out of her braid, the smoothness of her skin when he runs his hands into a circuit up her biceps to circle her shoulders and slope down her back, the soft sounds that she’s making as they finally surrender to the feeling.

His last thought is a faint and strangled _you can’t come back from this._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to all the 3 people still reading: sorry? this was written last year but i legit don't know what to do about a certain plot point of this story, which in turn is stalling everything else and making me blocked. i've been writing around it, but am approaching the point where there's no escape so it might be another while before the next one.
> 
> writer's block + life = anyways, here's wonderwall

_7 years ago_

_Press Release: Her Royal Highness Princess Theresa has undergone surgery to treat exertional compartment syndrome. The procedure was successful and Her Royal Highness is recovering at the palace. Royal duties will be performed by Her Royal Highness Princess Jordan._

 

It’s humiliating. Having nurses come and go at all hours, handing her single pills like an addict, watching her swallow and asking in a tiny voice “please lift your tongue, Your Highness” so they can check that she did. Losing control over your life and your privacy comes with the territory, but never to this degree. She has never felt this helpless in her entire life, needing to constantly be tended to like an infant when she hasn’t depended on someone to go to the bathroom since she was a toddler.

Not that there’s any shame in her temporary limitations, she’d never think the same way about someone else in her place, but that is a different self-loathing spiral in which she’ll go down later.

(Rationally she knows there’s reason for it, that it’s all for her own sake. She remembers how worried her father looked when she tried to slowly wheel herself across the large sitting room towards the table, how her face had blanched from the exertion and sweat gathered on the back of her neck. She had looked down as she felt some of it dripping down on her lips – _how the hell did she start sweating so quickly?_ – only to find blood seeping from her nose through her moustache of bandages. That was mere seconds before she fainted, body slumping over on the wheelchair.

It takes three more fainting spells during various stages of mobility and a stern lecture about her nose splint and the risk she’s taking before she truly understands.)

She feels trapped, cooped up inside watching mindless television and reading the garbage the media is spewing about her. How “a source close to the palace” says she’s gone into hiding, that she’s pregnant with an illegitimate lovechild and she shudders at the mere thought. She’s not an idiot, her involvement with her professor notwithstanding, she always made sure to take every single precaution.

It astounds her how the speculation got more intense the more time she spent away from cameras. Just last week, the rumour was that she was in rehab, and the week before it was that she had an unsuccessful cosmetic procedure and her face became deformed.

Which it hadn’t. The rhinoplasty she’d gotten along with the bilateral fasciotomy five weeks ago went smoothly and she’s recovering quite well. The cast was removed after the first week and the bruising under her eyes disappeared a week after that.

It’s at night that she caves, too weak from losing all her muscle tissue and the exertion of physiotherapy, asking to be wheeled around for a breath of fresh air through the gardens. Kait visits a couple of times, distracting her with stories about her time in America with her official boyfriend and her unofficial girlfriend. She no longer mentions or asks about Scott, not after calling three days into Tessa’s mandated bedrest to learn there’d been no word from him. She’s hurt, they both are, and mostly disappointed that their dear friend is going through this without his support.

Kait tried to reach him a couple of times with no success, instead letting both Charles and Daniel know to give him a piece of her mind, how she thought he was better than that, that their years of friendship should mean something to him and _fuck you for this, you absolute inconsiderate asshole._ She asks them to pass the message along. So now they don’t mention it.

Instead, Kait tells her about how she skated under the stars in a frozen lake, kissed under the mistletoe and got drunk on mulled wine. How she cried when Ashley said she loved her, snow clinging to her eyelashes and a smile on her lips before smothering Kait’s own admission with a smiling kiss.

Tessa laughs and then cries, sobbing beside her friend in pure unadulterated joy, Kait’s own tears as she recalls the happy moment rolling down her cheeks. “You deserve this. You both do.”

Kait sniffles, hugging her friend close and says nothing.

_So do you._

 

It’s exhilarating. Taking control of the vehicle, watching the signs and vegetation blur past, the road lines below and open sky above, stars shining on a cloudless night. The wind ruffling his hair as the car purrs, wheel turning easily in the smooth winding road of Montseny.

His heart thumps in his chest, flooding his body with adrenaline and he can feel his pulse against the roof of his mouth, feeling flushed and overwhelmed with everything he’d been trying to feel hitting at once. His mouth feels dry and he’s parched, sweating as he spots the Bugatti Veyron approaching from the side mirror. He quickly chugs from the bottle of Macallan resting on the console, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and placing the open bottle back in the holder, knowing his care for the custom leather interiors will cost him precious seconds.

His own Chiron is obviously faster, still holding the world record for fastest car despite the claims about the Hennessy Venom (which Scott can’t wait to get his hands into). It’s considered the king among supercars, which he thought fitting. A car for a king.

Not that Scott even wants to be king.

It’s his duty, to his family and his people, to be prepared whenever that time comes. Despite how much he loathes the idea of someday – hopefully not soon – losing what little control over his life he still has left, he knows he would never abdicate and thrust that responsibility into his brothers. Daniel’s life would be completely changed, and while he may not have lived through Edward VIII’s reign, he was taught about the effects his abdication had on his country and monarchy. He’s selfish as a rich, white and good looking man in his twenties can be but he would never do to his brother what was done to Elizabeth’s family.

Not by choice anyway, as he steps on the pedal and nudges his car forward, laughter escaping his lips as his opponent gets left behind.

 

He doesn’t really remember what exactly happened afterward, as he wakes up being shoved out of the cot on which he’d passed out, the guards standing nearby witnessing silently as a blur drags him to his feet roughly, yelling in his face and he can only make bits and pieces of the angry tirade.

“Are you out of… mother is absolutely… sick, you fucking selfish… no regard, you could’ve killed… what about Danny? Joannie’s mom… dead, Kait is… at you, Tess… surgery to walk! Do you have… idea what you’ve done… international incident… reckless endangerment, maybe… homicide! Street racing, really? Think of... family and… friends, you reckless… asshole!”

All he can do is sway on the spot, hungover, possibly still drunk, seeing three of his brother. He only has time to mumble _what?_ before his brother’s fist connects with his jaw, effectively knocking him out cold. Again.

He wakes to the sound of an engine humming, turning his face against the leather cushion and groaning as he touches the backrest. He opens an eye, peeking through the fog of his hangover to realise he’s sprawled facedown on the leather sofa of the jet, which was the source of the noise. He hears the sound of ice cubes moving against glass and slowly turns on his side to face it, seeing his brother Charles with his hand inside a champagne bucket filled with ice. So that’s why his face hurts.

Charlie doesn’t look up from where he sits reading over a stack of papers – _fuck, his brother is filling out university applications_ –, pushing a bottle of water on the table in front of him wordlessly. Scott sits down, unscrewing the cap and downing the contents in one go, reaching for the painkillers beside the bucket before his brother pulls it out of his reach with the end of the pen. Alright then.

By the time they land home, Scott drank another three bottles of water and threw up twice. He uses the plane bathroom to shower, grateful for the box under the sink with his name on it containing all of his favourite products and exchanging his sweaty and smelly clothes for the bundle placed wordlessly in his hands by his brother’s aide.

It’s not until they walk through one of his mother’s private rooms at 6:32 that the weight of his actions sinks in. He expects anger or disappointment, he even expects yelling, but that’s not what he finds. When she turns to face them, still in her dressing gown, he can see that she’s exhausted, dark circles under her eyes – his eyes – and no make up to conceal them, face lined with worry and eyes tight with stress. For the first time, his mother looks old. Older than she should look at her age.

Charlie nods, as if knowing the direction in which his thoughts wandered before clapping his back just once, hard, silently walking out and closing the doors behind him as Queen Alma engulfs her wayward son in her arms. He wraps his own arms around her middle, feeling the way she shudders, breath stuttering as she squeezes him tight. That’s how he realises she’s not angry, not sad or disappointed. She’s relieved. It’s also when he realizes he can’t live with himself for making her feel this way.

And he breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanna take this moment to say: please don't ever drink/do drugs/text/talk on the phone and drive. life (and safety) should always come first, both your own and that of the other people you share the road with.
> 
> the side effects of the nosejob were my own, and as for the post surgery dark thoughts/depression, feel free to reach out and let me know if anything is worded in an incorrect/insensitive way. i only write from my own perspective on my injury/limitations, which are not universal.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first chapter updated with a moodboard by my best mutual thababes ♥

_3 years ago_

 

They don’t talk about it.

It’s 7:49 and they’re in her family’s private plane, Charlotte asleep on one of the beds as they remain wide awake, not saying a word. Tessa didn’t want to mess up her sleeping schedule even more than she already did, knowing there’d be hell to pay later, so she opted for staying awake and he’s keeping her company. He’ll sleep when he’s home, always makes sure to leave his schedule clear for at least 48 hours after a wedding.

Tessa changed out of her maid of honour gown as soon as they reached cruising altitude and he silently mourns the loss. She truly looked magnificent, the modest swell of her breasts peeking over the neckline driving him to distraction. Until he’d seen the row of buttons down her spine, perfectly centered underneath her shoulder blades.

The memory of her skin, soft and warm from the fire, under his fingertips sends a shiver down his spine and snaps him back to the present. Squirming against the seat, he looks over at Tessa beside him, head leaning against the window with her hand on her chin, a single knuckle running back and forth distractedly over the edge of her bottom lip. It’s just as distracting as the memory he was dwelling on, and Scott can’t help but focus on her mouth. He wants to kiss her again. Wants her to kiss him again.

Tessa turns her head to look at him, and he wonders if he said it out loud. And then he doesn’t wonder anything at all, because her mouth is on his and they’re kissing again, and it doesn’t matter who started it – she did – because he opens his mouth to deepen it and she’s all around him. The strawberries of her shampoo and the lilies of her perfume, the mint of her toothpaste and the warmth of her tongue surround him, keeping him grounded despite the fact that they’re hurtling through the clouds in a hunk of metal thousands of meters from the ground.

His fingers go to her hair, clutching a fistful of the soft curls and carelessly undoing the hard work that must’ve gone into styling it. She’d worn it in an updo all night and he’s been dying to touch the strands, feel their softness under his palm and slip them through his fingers, watching as they become waves. Tessa cups his jaw in return, her pretty pink blunt nails scratching his cheekbone before her fingertips settle on the shell of his ear, tracing the cartilage and pressing her other hand to his chest right above his heart. It feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest, breaking free to land on her waiting palm.

She breaks away to press a small kiss to the underside of his jaw and he shudders, using the hand at the back of her head as leverage to pull her away, watching the way her eyes darken as he accidentally pulls on her hair. Her lips are parted in a gasp and he can’t resist the power they seem to exert over him, wants to hear their siren song and drown in her. This time it’s forceful and she moans into the kiss, which shouldn’t wreck him so badly but it does.

Scott moves to kiss under her jaw, dares to lick a path down the side of her throat before fastening his lips around the juncture of her shoulder, feeling more than hearing the way her breath stutters as she buries her fingers into his own hair, pressing him close. He’s exactly where he wants to be, he’s not going anywhere.

That is, until his niece’s cry breaks through the fog and they pull apart mere seconds before she comes out of the bedroom, face tearful as she rubs her eyes in exhaustion and confusion that dissipates as soon as she sees him.

“I want juice.”

Scott sighs, discreetly untangling his hand from Tessa’s hair and pressing the call button as hides her face with her palms, muffling a laugh.

 

_7 years ago_

 

The first time they see each other again is at the annual diplomatic reception, during the formally informal event the royal children hold in a secluded room as their parents discuss politics and diplomacy. They’re all there as a way to mingle and understand what it’s like, to practice for whenever their own time comes.

Which means a bunch of teenagers and young adults hidden away in what was unofficially nicknamed “the weed room”. Not for nothing, considering how many forms of it are around. Someone always seems to have multiple baggies on their person and there’s a buffet in the back with a corner consisting of edibles only.

(Joannie’s absence is notable and his heart hurts, knowing that she’s moved “out of the kids table” to sit with the adults. She’s a Queen now, despite not being crowned yet, only three weeks into her reign, much too soon. She’s only just become of age, and he can’t imagine what it feels like to lose so much so young and to be left with the heaviest of burdens.

He missed her mother’s funeral, was too busy being full of himself to be there for his friend, and doesn’t think she could ever forgive him for it.

Turns out he never had to worry, because Joannie always had the kindest heart and he definitely doesn’t deserve the way she just folds her arms behind his back, pulling him tight as he fervently whispers _pardonne-moi_ over and over, at a loss for words. He doesn’t deserve the way she whispers back _je te pardonne_ against his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek before pulling away.

The time for tears and accusations has passed, the only thing he can offer is comfort and support, which she returns with kindness and compassion. Joannie was always a better person than he could ever dream of being.)

Scott finds her sitting on a sofa, legs propped up on the footrest and clutching a tray of said edibles to her chest. The beading on the bodice of her pretty white dress catches the light and shines when she turns to look at him, as if feeling his stare. It draws him in, like a lighthouse in a storm, lighting his path to her. Her hair is a dark colour now, pulled neatly behind her head in an updo, and the contrast makes for a rude awakening of everything he missed.

Kait lies sprawled out on the floor, her blonde curls framing her face in an angelic halo, her purple gown pooling around her knees and getting creased as her legs rest on the sofa by Tessa’s right side, neither of their shoes anywhere in sight. She turns her head to the side, bendy straw between her lips as she drinks from a cocktail glass beside her head and finally makes eye contact with him, lifting an eyebrow as he approaches but saying nothing.

He plops down on Tessa’s right side, with enough space between them that he’s not invading hers but still near enough to satisfy his own need to be close, with Kait’s legs between them. Throwing his left arm over the back of the sofa behind her, he makes sure not to touch her as he reaches slowly for one of the brownies on the tray and when she doesn’t stop him, pluckers one off and shoves the entire thing into his mouth.

Kait nudges his thigh with her foot and he grabs another, bending over and offering it to her as she lifts herself off the ground to meet him halfway, mouth open as he gingerly puts the brownie into her mouth, making sure not to smudge her lipstick. She lies back down, humming as she chews and when she smiles, he knows she’s forgiven him just like that. They’ll be alright.

He leans against the backrest, sinking further into the cushions and closing his eyes when he hears her sigh beside him. Scott opens his eyes just in time to see her lean her head against his shoulder and lets his arm fall down from the back of the couch to encircle her shoulders, turning his head to kiss the crown of hers.

Tessa turns to look up at him, gaze calculating meeting his own earnest and it’s only three seconds that feel like three years passing between them when she finally closes her eyes, satisfied with whatever conclusion she’d reached. She opens them again, blinking twice, fast, and reaches for another brownie, wordlessly nudging it against his lips until they part to accept her offering. It’s not forgiveness quite yet, but it’s an acknowledgment that they’re on the way.

They’ll all be just fine.

 

(They wouldn’t. Not for a long time.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much thanks to tina for editing and being an angel. mistakes are to be blamed on the fact that i don't speak french, even though a kind soul tried to help me on twitter. next chapter isn't written so y'all know the drill, sorry.


	6. NOTE

To whom it may concern, let me start this by apologizing if you thought this was an update. It isn’t.

I’ve finally decided to just put this story on hiatus; there isn’t much to say at this point, the state of affairs is pretty self explanatory. I’m not doing this because he’s engaged. I started this around the WoF, and I didn’t care because our little fic verse was never made with any intention to harm anyone or anything.

At this point in time, I no longer feel comfortable writing, talking or even getting into the fictional head of someone I no longer love or even like; someone I, in fact, despise. I don’t know how this will be interpreted, and frankly I don’t care. I’ve earned the right to be angry.

(For all I know, I could just hate-write this to see it done since I do have a few chapters saved up. Just not now.)

Furthermore, this story has given me trouble from the start with a particular plot point which I could not develop for 6 months. An hour after I figured out how to do it, my personal life went to shit and I’m still trying to recover from the emotional fallout and resulting depression 5 months later.

Just to remind or inform anyone who doesn’t know: I am a latina, a feminist and a bisexual currently living in a religious country with a recently elected fascist. He’s Trump’s #1 fan. I have privilege within my country from colorism, which makes me just light enough to not get shot by police, but just brown enough to get held at customs under suspicion of attempting to immigrate illegally.

I don’t actually care that he’s engaged. I was laughing on twitter when people were acting shocked, because it was the most predictable thing. Everyone around me saw it coming. What I do have a problem with is, and this is something I’ve also spoken about on twitter, the maga of it all. I won’t get into the merits of how someone isn’t defined by their SO’s beliefs because that’s bullshit. If he’s alright with his SO believing and supporting any facet of fascism, he’s complicit. But that’s okay,  _ because it doesn’t affect him. _

I’m not looking to argue or discuss this and jump through imaginary hoops and reach for the sky to not call it what it is. It’s alright if you wanna continue to defend him, that’s your choice. I respect it, even if I don’t respect you. I’m grateful to this fandom for rekindling my love of writing, for giving me a new perspective on how to turn feelings into words and for all the amazing writers out there. Thank you, to every single one of you.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Royals by Lorde.
> 
> Constructive criticism is appreciated, as are kudos and comments.


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